Little Boy from Hell
Ignorance is bliss; no phrase holds more truth to it than this. I truly envy clueless people with their clueless dreams, clueless people with options I do not have, clueless people with family and friends. I envy people who are not lonely, and I people envy people who strive to learn more. I guess I envy many kinds of people. Ironically, many people are likely to envy me, due to their blissful ignorance. I am writing this entry here simply because this is the internet, I am bored and because most likely no one would take it seriously, but I don’t really mind. I’ve told this story countless times. I like telling stories, mostly because for me, at this point, hearing them is pointless; I’ve heard it all. Nothing surprises me anymore. Speaking of surprises though, the current song that the Youtube playlist is running reminds me of my own past in a way, not many things do anymore. It is called “Mr. Doctor Man” by a relatively new band named Palaye Royale; I definitely recommend you listen to it. There’s a certain part in that song that caught my attention: “There’s this little story I’d like to tell, About this little boy who came from Hell, Sit right there and listen real good, I’ll tell you the ways he’s misunderstood.” This part embodies the story of me and my brother perfectly, even though I doubt it was intended to represent the misery of a bitter old man. Regardless, I’d like you to sit right there and pay attention real good to the little story I’d like to tell as the man who’s so misunderstood. I want you to take this A story about a little boy who came from hell to heart. Long ago, I used to have a younger brother whom I loved dearly; he was the closest human being to me. Like all siblings, we had our ups and downs, but no matter what happened I had his back and he had mine on everything. I failed him once, however, and this one failure turned out to be a fatal one. It all started when we were kids and my brother would run off into the woods next to the village we used to live in at the time. Back then, there was nothing out of the ordinary about kids playing in the woods alone; it was a much more innocent time back then. My younger brother would come back every day from the woods and talk about some kind of shiny sky people. Our parents did not think much of it. I mean, all kids have a wild imagination, it’s just a part of being a child. That all changed when my brother failed to come back home after dark one time. Our parents got worried sick, and so did I. My old man began searching for him everywhere in that forest. He even got other townsfolk to help him but to no avail. My kid brother was nowhere to be found. It was like the earth had swallowed him whole. All hope was lost. We’d begun thinking of the worst, wondering about how he had met his end. My mother broke down once father returned home alone. I’d never seen her so devastated before. The sight of my wailing mother and the idea of losing my beloved brother drove me to tears. I’d never cried that much before. That night, none of us could sleep. We were too preoccupied with thinking about the lost child, about our lost loved one. Then in the dark of night, the door to our house creaked. It made me jolt from my bed. Chills ran down my body; I stood up and walked slowly towards the entrance door. I remember being in a trance-like state, jumbled thoughts running through my mind, my body too tired due to the prolonged stress inflicted upon it. He stood there at the entrance to our house, unharmed and unscathed: my younger brother. A rush of adrenaline pumped through my veins and I charged at my brother, hugging him tightly with tears streaming down my cheeks. He was at a loss of words, he had no idea why I was so emotional about seeing him. He did not seem to understand what kind of pain he had caused us. I began questioning him about where he had been and what had happened to him. By that point, our parents stood by us, excited to see their child alive and well. My brother's response to my questions, it did not worry me, nor did it make me happy. His response outright pissed me off. He began spewing what I perceived as childish nonsense about the sky people he had been mentioning in the past. I was so angered by the idea that a mere imaginary thing could make me lose my brother that I snapped at him. And I slapped him. I slapped him for the first and only time in our lives. I slapped him so hard he fell down to the ground and began crying. I slapped him and barked at him to never mention these stupid sky people, to forget about them once and for all. Of course, after the initial shock of my parents wore off, they scolded me for my actions, but I guess my disapproval of this idea had led my brother to forget about it because, after that night, he stopped mentioning the sky people and would only vanish into the forest to work there. Our relationship wasn’t really strained by the incident, we kept on being each other’s pillars. We remained the perfect best friends. The years had passed and we left our home village, started our own families and carried on with our lives separately. Sure, we weren’t as close as we used to be as kids, but we still had each other’s backs, and we were pretty much always in touch. One day, during high noon, my brother showed up in the distance. He appeared to be exhausted and battered, carrying an ass’ jaw in hand. I ran towards him, grabbed him and began questioning him as to what had happened to him. I would help him with virtually anything. “The sky people, they’re not imaginary as we thought….” That was his initial response. I let go of him, fear creeping from the top of my head to the bottom of my foot soles. I was wondering whether my brother was insane, or if the sky people had actually been just nasty, evil humans all along that did despicable things to my sibling when he was a child. Before I could verbally respond to my distressed brother, he shattered my silence by uttering the scariest thing I had heard up to this point. “Kill me, brother…. Kill me and burn my remains…. Don’t let them get me….” “W… h… a… N… o….” He wouldn’t relent. “Kill me. Please, kill me.” “I can’t.” “I can’t do this” “You’ve to… they’re doing terrible things to me, just looking at them is killing me…” he began weeping. “I can’t…. No… we….” “I have to die, don’t you get it?” he lunged at me with the ass’ jawbone, tackling me to the floor, screaming in my face about how I must end his life. I kicked him off myself, tried calming him down. But he just lunged at me again. This time I grabbed him by the arms, and we began wrestling over control of his weapon. He kept begging violently to be killed and I kept on trying to stop him before anyone of us could be hurt; I did not want to hurt my brother. I couldn’t stop him. I just couldn’t. I had to put him in a choke hold to slow him down, but he kept thrashing his hands around trying to force me to suffocate him to death. Luckily, he passed out before that. Once he passed out, I let go of his limp body. I regret doing it to this day…. He fell down. Hard. His skull... It landed straight on top of the jagged side of the jawbone. My brother was dead. I had killed him. The world stopped moving at that moment for me, even though I had kids and a loving wife. I even had a dog, but he, he was the most precious person to me in the world, and I had just killed him. I grabbed his now-lifeless body and hugged it as hard as I possibly could, crying and moaning in agony over what I had just done. Before dusk, I forced myself to bury the body of my own flesh and blood. I did it in secrecy; I did not want anyone knowing I had committed Fratricide. You may call it accidental, you may call it self-defense, and you may even call it assisted suicide, but for me, and the rest of the world, this was a murder. A man killing his brother was first attested in the Old Testament. That story is about my brother and me. While the story contains many misconceptions, the core is nothing but the truth. I had murdered my brother over a matter regarding beings residing technically in the sky. By this point, I guess you’ve figured out who I am. Anyhow, after burying my brother and lying to my family that I was notified of his sudden death, I had to keep on acting as if nothing had happened, but I simply could not. The stress caused by what I had done was taking its toll on my body and mind. I couldn’t sleep straight at night. In my dreams, I kept seeing his limp body laying on the ground, an ass’ jawbone stuck in his head, those lightless glossy eyes of his, the blood below him, all of this, it was haunting me. That was just the beginning for me, however; you can’t even imagine how much worse all of this had gotten two weeks after I had murdered my dear brother. I laid in bed with my wife, and we slept. My routine nightmares disturbed my sleep, in the middle of that night, I awoke drenched in sweat. Something was off in the air; it was like there was a large amount of static electricity in that room. I felt as if I was in the middle of a thundercloud about to explode. I grabbed my head between my hands and cursed myself silently before lying down and closing my eyes once more. Surprisingly, sleep came quickly after, and it was blissful, of the kind I hadn’t had in a while. The room was getting warmer. And warmer. With each passing moment... The room was getting warmer. By the time the change was noticeable, I was sweaty and uncomfortable. I tried moving, but I was stuck. Something was holding me back. I tried moving once more, but I simply couldn’t. Panic set in; my eyes shot open. I wish I hadn’t In front of me was a huge face-like thing made out of bright, painfully bright light. Its features were distorted and barely discernible, yet at the same time so sharp all at once. It was nothing but a spherical shape with jagged slits that wouldn’t stop reforming grotesquely as if to give it an appearance of a being with eyes and a mouth. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t, as if my mouth had been sewn shut. I felt the air rise up my throat, but it wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I tried thrashing around, but my body wouldn’t budge. I was stuck in the middle of a hot, bright space. More of these floating face-shaped abominations began sprouting around me; there were so many of them. They were a legion. It was horrible, I felt like my heart was going to burst through my rib-cage and kill me in the process; I had begun wishing for that. The faces were screeching something in a language I did not understand, but their voices, they were so high it felt like they were stabbing me through my eardrums. If you thought that was the end of it, you’re wrong. Soon this space had begun heating up even more, up to the point where everything became blurry. At least, I found some solace in the blurry shape these monstrosities took in my eyes. Eventually, when the heat got too much to bear, I had passed out. I woke up not far from my house. My whole body hurt as if I was run over by a tank, but there were no visible changes on my person. My mind though... Oh, that’s a whole different story. Everything, literally every single thing made me remember those faces... Fuck! I still remember what these abominations look like, even though it's been so long since I've last seen them. If these are the sky people Abel was talking about, he must’ve been one heck of a brave child, because those horrors, they are the most horrible things I’ve ever seen. I did not tell my wife and child about the occurrence. I did not want to sound like a mad man back then, so I kept it all to myself. A few years later, my wife and child died in a fire, along with most of my village. Traumatized, depressed, and in so much pain, the death of my family and friends drove me over the edge. I had decided to end it all. I’d decided to end my life. I threw myself off a cliff. I felt my body hit the ground below, awful pain at the side of the neck and then numbness of everything below for a few moments, and then peace, cold dark, empty…. Peace. Something forced me to breathe. My eyes shot open. I was alive. My first thoughts were, “No, no, no, no, no!” followed by, “How can this be?!” The next few months were nothing but endless suicide attempts, anything from throwing myself off high places to drowning myself in the river. All of that ended when I threw myself into a volcano nearby. First, it hurt like a son of a bitch and second, you don’t drown in lava, you just catch fire. Clearly, I’ve survived. Those were some of the hardest years of my life, physically speaking. After that, I made it my life’s mission to end my own life. Mostly because being physically immune to death does not make me less of a human and eventually my emotional side took over. Time and time again, I got attached and ended up seeing the people I love slip away from me, I ended up seeing them die on me. This had led me to try and be a hermit, which worked for a while until some fool from Mesopotamia came looking for the secret to eternal life. Assuming more like him would find me, I left my little cave and started wandering again, until I came across more people, which lead me to more attachment and pain. For the most part, the emotional stress was the hardest thing to deal with; eventually, the boredom overcame even that. I’ve done everything, seen everything, and felt everything. I tried any kind of sex, pretty much came up with most of the Kama Sutra, and slept with a bunch of important people throughout the years, for those who care. Caesar was both passive and active. Speaking of the Roman empire, I kind of invented Jesus, you see. I thought that by goading a Roman governor in Judea enough he’d abuse me and my eventual corpse into oblivion. That did not work out well and instead, I had given the world a new religion, a ridiculous one at that. I’ve been everywhere too, tried killing myself by infecting myself with a plague infection twice, the first time was when I went to Constantinople during Justinian’s Plague and the second when I was in England during the rampage of the Black Death through Europe. For a while, I had given up hope on being able to die finally. And then the last century rolled around and we got mustard gas and World War I. I tried it, didn’t work. It hurt, oh hell it did, almost like the lava, but it didn’t kill me, no matter the dose and I’ve tried a lot of that stuff. During World War II I gave myself to Mengele, but the famed Angel of Death couldn’t end my life either. If I hadn’t been around to see the likes of Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan, In another life, I would’ve been definitely against the Nazis and their silly little ideology, but honestly, in this life, I couldn’t care any less. My latest attempt at dying was Chernobyl. I messed a little with the reactors and boom. Radiation sickness was the closest to dying. I vomited and shitted any kind of liquid content inside my body. Shortly after the exposure, my skin and some muscles began to fall off but seems like I didn’t get enough radiation to completely destroy my genetic structure because everything just started re-growing slowly back into place. Honestly, I don’t know what was more agonizing, losing over eighty percent of my skin and some of my musculature or re-growing all of that, while I basically shit myself half to death daily for months on end. I guess I should destroy another nuclear plant or two. For now, I’ve admitted myself to this nice mental institution, simply to avoid the emotional headache for the next few years. Even though the medication they give me here isn’t as good as I thought it would be, I’ve tasted so much better with much better effects. That’s about all I’ve had to say, seems like this is the end of the little story about the misunderstood little boy from Hell. Maybe I should visit my dear old friend Elizabeth Windsor after I’m out of here. Even though I envy her aged beauty, she gets more beautiful by the year. What do you think, should I visit my queen of a friend in a few years? I hope that she doesn’t leave me alone here, too. Do you know what’s really funny though? The fact that the staff here let a man they dub behind his back “a hopeless mad creep with no chance of recovery” like me access the internet. Hell, that’s not even the funniest thing about this place. These idiots that work here, they didn’t even take that old jawbone away from me, I have kept it as a reminder of what I have become for all these years, and right now, right now I think that the only thing that would ease my boredom would be to use this jawbone on someone’s throat. Category:BloodySpghetti Category:Beings Category:Mental Illness